


Second Time Better Than The Last

by EclecticMuse



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Mild Angst, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse
Summary: When Fitz and Jemma finally find a moment to themselves after arriving at the Lighthouse after their long trip through space, Jemma decides it's time to celebrate. Some shameless second wedding night smut to fill in the canon gaps.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 19
Kudos: 119





	Second Time Better Than The Last

**Author's Note:**

> I lamented somewhere on the lack of second wedding night smut fic, and someone--I forget where, Tumblr or Twitter or even Instagram--suggested they would be very interested if I wrote some. Since I like to be the change I want to see in the world, here we are! Shameless smut with some feelings and a tiny dash of angst. Enjoy!

“It looks different,” Fitz said as Jemma led him down the corridors of the Lighthouse.

She glanced over at him. He was looking around, at the other agents they passed by and the doorways to brightly-lit rooms--storage rooms, the lab, their med center--and even up at the lights in the corridor themselves. His expression was curious yet slightly guarded, the same face he’d worn around her ever since the Chronicoms’ mind prison and learning about all the time he had missed.

“Does it?” she asked.

Fitz nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it does,” he replied. He peered around the corner as they came to a stop outside the base’s elevator and Jemma hit the call button. “From when Enoch brought me here. Me and Hunter, I mean. And Polly and Robin. It’s a lot… brighter. And full.”

Jemma thought of the other Fitz then, her first Fitz, and how he’d walked these halls with her before--unlike the Fitz currently standing next to her, who was seeing this newly-occupied Lighthouse for the first time. Then she gave her head a little shake, pushing those thoughts away. If she wanted any hope of a future with him, she couldn’t be preoccupied with the man she had lost. She’d found him again, and he was safe; the only way to go now was forward.

“It had been empty for a long time when you came here, yeah?” she said. The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. The doors closed behind them and, after Jemma pressed another button, the elevator began to move. “We’ve spruced it up a bit since then. Made it a little more homey.” She smiled at him, but conveniently left out the fact that most of the redecorating had been done while she had been out in space searching for him. 

The elevator creaked to a stop and the doors opened onto the residential floor, where all of the agents’ bunks were. Fitz followed her out again, and they walked a short distance down the corridor until Jemma stopped outside a door that looked just like any of the others that dotted the walls at intervals.

“This is me,” she said, shooting Fitz another quick smile as she punched in a number on the keypad next to the door. “Rather--this is us.”

The door unlocked and Jemma swung it open, standing aside to let Fitz go in first. As she stepped in after him, she saw that her bag and the suitcase that she had packed for him and brought on the Zephyr were sitting at the foot of the wide bed. Daisy had obviously been by to drop off their things after she’d returned home.

Other than that, there were very few personal touches around the room. There hadn’t been time to leave a mark before--first, they were racing to save the world, and then Jemma had taken every tangible reminder of Fitz she had with her into space. The result was a room rather Spartan in appearance: the neatly-made bed on one wall, the plain dresser and wardrobe on the other, and a desk that only held a few books and a blank pad of paper. Jemma went to turn on the lamps instead of the bright fluorescent overhead, giving the room a softer warm glow.

Fitz was standing by the foot of the bed, looking around at everything with an inscrutable look on his face. Jemma wished she knew what he was thinking. Perhaps it was the same thing she was--that it was all very bare and could use a little sprucing up, too.

“We have an ensuite, too,” she told him, gesturing to the door set in the wall next to the desk. “It’s very nice for an old apocalypse bunker bathroom. I think Mack’s had some upgrades done while we were gone.” She smiled again, wanting to make Fitz feel at home. “You can go on and have a shower if you like--there’s some clothes for you in the wardrobe. I imagine you’ll be wanting to get out of--well, all that.” She gestured at his dirty coveralls.

“‘Some clothes.’” Jemma blinked at the flat tone of Fitz’s voice and the way his expression had suddenly gone tight. “You mean, _his_ clothes.”

A knot formed in her chest, the same way it did every time he got in a dig on her first husband. “Fitz…”

But he ignored her. pointing to the bed instead. “And I guess he slept with you in this bed, and I’ll find his things in the bathroom and you’ll tell me to use them too, yeah? Is that how it’s going to be for me from now on? All of his sloppy seconds?”

The knot swelled up into a boulder that threatened to choke her, a nauseating heartache that filled her with dread. Jemma knew he’d been struggling with the concept of another him, but she thought he’d been doing well, all things considered. Now, he was working himself up into a fine snit. Was this what he was carrying with him, how he truly felt? How could he not realize just how blindingly grateful she was to have him? Her stomach twisting, she took a step toward him. “Fitz, _stop_ \--”

“And that’s all I am to you, too, isn’t it?” he said, like she hadn’t spoken at all. “Second. Just a replacement for the one who died.” Anguish was written clear across Fitz’s face, and it tore at the jagged edges of Jemma’s broken heart that were only just now beginning to knit themselves back up, now that she had him back. He put his hands on his hips and looked down, scoffing quietly. “You’ll always be thinking of _him_ , won’t you, wishing you had _him_ \--”

“I lost you!” Jemma blurted, tears springing to her eyes. Fitz stopped in the midst of his tirade and looked up at her, his mouth slightly agape. “They brought you back in a _bag_ ,” she continued. “You--you saw it. I had to _bury_ you. Don’t you understand how much that broke me, how unspeakably _thankful_ I am that _you_ were still out there?”

Fitz said nothing, just continued to stare at her with that same faintly stunned look.

“I’m _lucky_ ,” she cried, and swiped a hand beneath her eyes at the tears that had collected there. “All of the times we’ve been torn apart and I thought this time it was final, you were gone and I’d lost everything, but _you_ were out there, waiting for me to find you. And it doesn’t make you second-best or a replacement, or anything else that might be going through that mind of yours. It makes you _you_.” She gave him a pleading look, begging him to understand her. “The man that I love, who I traveled all of space for, who I’ve missed _so much_. We can get you new clothes, a new toothbrush, I’ll even get new bedsheets if you want, just-- _please_ , understand that I’m just happy I still have you at all. You’re all I want. Just you.”

Jemma looked down, her shoulders slumping as the fight went out of her. After a moment, she saw Fitz’s feet move to come toward her, and a second later his hands were lightly grasping her upper arms. He rubbed them a few times in what was clearly meant to be a soothing gesture, and then he was carefully pulling her into his arms, one hand at her waist and the other cradling the back of her head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her cheek. He sounded defeated, chastised. “You--well, you know how I can be.” He carded his fingers slowly through her hair. “I’ve never felt I was good enough for you to begin with--how am I supposed to compete with a brave, bold, dashing version of me who went to the future to save you? And then married you?”

Jemma let out a short laugh which might have been more of a sob. “It’s not about anything like that,” she told him wetly, winding her arms around his waist. “Or being good enough. I _chose_ you. You’ll always have my love.”

Fitz turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against her temple. “You can’t deny that it’s weird though, that I’m both your first _and_ second husband.”

Her breath hitched at his mention of marriage. “You still want to?” she asked, a waver of insecurity hovering in her voice. She’d thought with all of his carrying on, he might want to take a step back and go slow.

“Want to what?” Fitz asked, his hand in her hair going still. “Be your husband? Marry you? Of course I want to.”

Jemma let out a breath, a light sort of relief washing through her. She let go of him and took a small step back, fumbling beneath the collar of her shirt to pull out the delicate silver chain she wore, on which hung the other Fitz’s wedding ring, then held it up so he could see it. “I know you accepted this when we were… well, when we were stuck in our minds,” she said, “but if you really want your own, we can get you one.”

The expression on Fitz’s face turned infinitely tender then, almost sad, contrite. “I don’t need another one,” he said softly, and reached up to carefully undo the clasp of the necklace. The ring dropped into his hand and, just like in the mind prison, he solemnly slipped it onto his finger. “This is all I need to tell me that I’m married to you,” he continued, his eyes bright. “If you’ll still have me.”

Jemma thought her heart might burst in her chest. “Of course I will,” she said quickly, stretching to set the empty necklace chain down on the desk. Straightening back up, she added, “We might want to have an actual ceremony somewhere, though--you know, to make things legal--we didn’t have that last time--”

Fitz took her hands in his and gently squeezed them, his smile still soft and full of love, full of apologies for his rant. “Yeah, we can do that. My mum would like it, actually, even if she can’t come. She’ll want pictures.”

Jemma smiled back, her chest aching with bittersweet joy. They would have all the pictures they wanted--and Mack would take them, just like he had last time, with pride on his face. Her parents would appreciate photos too. But more than that, she was thinking about what else a wedding entailed, something Fitz himself had brought up on their trip home.

“We have some time before we have to be back downstairs for the party,” she said, suddenly very aware of every inch of space that he took up. “We could…” Her bravery faltered slightly. “We could celebrate on our own first. Since we’re married again and all.”

She could swear that Fitz’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?” he murmured, letting go of her hands to take a small step toward her and rest his own on her waist. 

Jemma nodded, not trusting her words. He was so close, closer than he’d been outside of the mind prison, and she was feeling a little dizzy off of his proximity after so long without. Thankfully, Fitz didn’t seem to need them, because he leaned in and caught her lips in a light kiss, soft but full of purpose.

She responded immediately, her hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as she pressed back into him. They’d shared a kiss in the mind prison, but this was _real_ ; the taste of him, his warmth, the solid feel of him beneath her hands was igniting her desire faster than anything else ever had before. The ache of being without him for over a year was fast catching up with her. Apparently Fitz felt the same--his hands twisted into the wool of her jacket for a moment before he fumbled to push it off of her shoulders and down to the floor. Then his arms wound around her, pulling her flush to him as he deepened their kiss.

They stayed like that, trading increasingly heated kisses and feeling like they were drowning in each other, until the need for air necessitated pulling apart. Fitz rested his forehead on Jemma’s, panting slightly as he held her close.

“I’m going to make this better than your first wedding night,” he said, obviously thinking of the conversation they’d had on the _Lazy Comet_.

Jemma couldn’t help but roll her eyes and breathe out a soft laugh, even as her core pulsed with want. “ _Fitz_ ,” she scolded him. “It’s not a competition.”

“‘Course it is,” he replied easily, his arms tightening around her. “And I’m going to win.”

There was a world of promise in the tone of his voice, a hint of passion that made Jemma’s toes curl in her boots. _Never say Fitz doesn’t like a challenge, even if he’s competing against himself_ , she thought, and let out a quiet yelp as he dove in for more kisses, more insistent and hot than before. She’d had enough of waiting. All these long months she’d dreamed of being with him again, and here he was, extremely enthusiastic and there for the taking.

Her hands went to fumble at his suspenders as they kissed; it took her a moment to decide that she would be better served by attacking his belt first, so she blindly pulled at it until it came undone. Then she heard his suspenders fall to the floor with an audible _clunk_ , and she sighed with satisfaction into Fitz’s mouth. He was undoing her own belt while she moved to the zipper of his coveralls, and he had to pause in his work as she pushed the stained, grubby materials off his shoulders and down over his hips. But they ran into a snag when they realized the coveralls were tucked into his boots.

“Bugger,” Fitz mumbled, staring down at himself half-dressed. Jemma couldn’t suppress a laugh, feeling lighter than she had in ages. He scowled at her. “It’s not funny,” he said. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

Jemma’s smile widened. “Oh, I know,” she replied. “And it’s working. I’m just… so _happy_.”

That pulled a smile from him, and through unspoken agreement they both set to work on their own clothes. Once they were down to their underwear, Fitz reached out for Jemma to pull her close again. 

“Christ, I’ve missed you,” he mumbled, kissing a path across her cheek and down to her neck, where he nuzzled in and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her skin. His hands slid up and down her ribs in a soft caress. “Everything about you, this--”

“Fitz,” she sighed, and he pushed gently against her, walking them back towards the bed. When they reached it, Jemma fell eagerly down onto the sheets, pulling Fitz with her. He immediately covered her body with his, and they both groaned as he captured her mouth in a deep, scorching kiss.

It was almost too much, the feeling of his bare skin on hers and the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, and Jemma felt the traitorous sting of tears as Fitz trailed his lips back down to her neck. But she held them back, because tears had no place here; this was a reunion of joy and happiness, of finding each other once more against the odds.

She felt Fitz’s hands slip beneath her back to fumble with the clasp of her bra, and an instant later he was flicking it carelessly over the side of the bed. Then he was staring down at her, his eyes wide and dark. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent. “I thought I’d forgotten…”

“Fitz,” she said again. This time it was a plea, a reassurance, understanding: she knew his pain and his fears, and she wanted him. She held her arms out to him and he came right back, briefly kissing her lips before moving back to her neck, then moving down to her collarbones and chest. “So soft,” he whispered, and his hand came up to gently cover one of her breasts. Jemma’s breath hitched; his palm was so _warm_ , and his touch felt so good. She made a soft noise of need as his lips dusted kisses onto the upper swell of her other breast, and she felt like she could barely breathe from anticipation. When he brushed an open-mouthed kiss over the peak, she made another, strangled, sound; and when he finally wrapped his lips around her nipple, laving the flat of his tongue over it, she cried out loudly with pleasure.

“God, Jemma,” he mumbled around her breast, then applied himself to her in earnest, nipping and sucking at her while his hand teased her other breast. Jemma wrapped her arms around his shoulders, reveling in the fact that he was there to touch now and arching up into him and gasping every time Fitz did something particular with his hand or lips that sent hot pleasure skittering away down her nerves.

He kept up his attention until she was a panting, shivery mess on the sheets, silently begging for more with the way her body shifted beneath his. But she didn’t notice his hand smoothing down her side until it shifted to trace over the front of her knickers, then slipped between her legs. When he felt how damp her knickers were, he released her breast with a quiet _pop_.

“Fuck,” he swore, pushing himself up. “I’m sorry--I need to--”

Jemma watched in a lust-filled daze as Fitz sat up and shifted to pull her knickers down her legs, then toss them off the back of the bed. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he said, looking down at her with a hunger that she was sure matched her own. Guessing his intent, Jemma’s heart raced as she spread her legs to make room for him. Fitz dropped down to settle between them, his hands sliding up her thighs while his eyes roved over her.

“Yeah?” she asked, unable to be ashamed at how unsteady her voice was.

Fitz nodded even as he kissed his way up her inner thigh. “Every bloody day we were apart.”

Somehow, Jemma doubted that. It wasn’t possible to dream about going down on your partner _every_ day, no matter how much you wanted it--

Then she felt the touch of his tongue to her center, and all logical thought fled from her mind.

She could intuit that he wanted to devour her--after all, she would feel the same if she were in his position, after all this time--but he kept his strokes slow, licking up through her folds at a pace that was almost torturous. She threaded her fingers through his hair, sighing, and tugged gently. She hadn’t searched for him for over a year just for him to take his time the first chance they had to have sex.

Fitz didn’t change his pace. Well, he _had_ said he’d make it better than her first wedding night. Maybe his need to prove himself was outpacing his libido. Unsurprising, if she thought about it.

Which he was making hard to do. His tongue flicked over her clit and she gasped as pleasure shot straight down her spine; he hummed a note of approval and sucked her clit between his lips, tapping at it with his tongue. Jemma outright moaned, drawing her knees up slightly as he began to tease around her entrance with the pad of his forefinger. That was something that always drove her wild; the pleasure of his touch combined with his attention to her clit and the anticipation of having his fingers inside her made arousal coil tightly deep inside of her, leaving her gasping, moaning, wordlessly begging for more.

When Fitz finally pushed two fingers inside of her, the noise Jemma made was nearly obscene. It was a pale imitation for actually having _him_ , but it still felt better than words could say, every confident thrust of his fingers lighting up her senses and bringing her closer to release. And that was when the tears finally came--when he was making her feel so good she could barely think, when he was humming even as he kept sucking and licking at her clit, crooking his fingers inside of her to hit that one sweet spot on every stroke. She was just so _glad_ to have him back. Back in her life and her arms and her bed, and she was never going to let him go.

“Fitz,” she moaned, tears sliding down her face. She chanted his name, tugged on his hair harder until he groaned against her, gasped and cried out as he stoked the pleasure building in her higher and higher until it peaked. She keened sharply, her cry sounding more like a sob, and her back arched as bright, sweet sensation rolled through her in waves. Then she went slack against the sheets, panting.

She felt Fitz pull away, and a moment later he was crawling back up her body, dropping light kisses here and there until he reached her face. “Jemma?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. His thumb brushed at some of the tears that wet her face. “Are you alright?”

Jemma nodded, still trying to get her breathing under control. “I’m fine. Promise. I’m just… happy.”

Fitz’s gaze softened, bittersweetness mixing with desire. He understood. “I am, too,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her. She could taste herself on his lips, and it only made her want him more. He let it spin out for a sweet moment before mumbling, “Do you still--?”

“Yes, I’ve still got my IUD,” she replied.

“Thank god.” Fitz shifted to swing his legs over the side of the bed and lifted his hips so he could quickly shuck off his boxer-briefs. Then he turned back to her, and Jemma let herself appreciate the view--he had the same lightly-toned chest and arms that her first Fitz had, and while she hated how he’d gotten them, she wouldn’t deny that the outcome was very pleasing. 

She reached out to pull him down to her and he easily obliged, kissing her deeply as their bodies met. It felt like the ultimate indulgence, feeling the full bare weight of him: her breasts pressed to his chest, her hands gliding over his back, their legs tangled together. At last, at last, at last. They were home.

Fitz nudged at her legs with his knees and she automatically parted them to let him settle between her thighs; then he buried his face in her neck as he rolled his hips into her, forcing the hard shaft of his cock up through her folds. It felt better than it had a right to.

“Jemma,” Fitz groaned, slipping his hands beneath her shoulders. “Fuck. _Please_.”

“It’s alright,” she whispered. “Come on.” Her hands went to his hips and she canted her own to guide him to her entrance. It took a couple of thrusts until he pushed in, and then Jemma’s mouth opened on a silent moan as he filled her, the pleasure simple and sweet but oh so good. Fitz groaned into her neck, long and low, until he was buried to the hilt. She could feel him trembling, though whether it was pleasure or the act of keeping still, she didn’t know. Finally, he lifted his head to press a clumsy kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I need to--” he rasped.

Jemma nodded once, quickly. “ _Please_.”

She knew he still wanted to go slow, to draw their reunion out as long as he could, but that time was long past for him now. Fitz pulled his hips back and thrust into her carefully once, twice, before setting a fast pace, pumping into her strong and hard on every stroke.

“Jemma, _Jemma_ ,” he moaned. He’d pressed his face into her neck again, holding her as close as he pistoned into her. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate. Neither was she, for that matter. Still sensitive and strung out from one fantastic orgasm, every thrust felt like stars bursting behind Jemma’s eyelids, taking her higher and higher once again, and it was all she could do to hold onto him and call out his name, begging him to give her everything he had.

And he did. Jemma felt Fitz’s teeth set at the join of her neck and shoulder as he snapped his hips into her as hard as he could, and the power of his thrusts made her vision blur at the edges. “Come on, Jemma,” he begged, his voice ragged, and she could feel his fingers digging into her shoulders. “Please. I want--want--”

She cried out as she came, white-hot pleasure making her body arch up and clench around his before dissolving into waves of shivers. Fitz moaned, his thrusts turning wild and disjointed, and a moment later he came with a shout, driving into her one last time before going still.

It took a minute or two for Jemma to come back to her senses, and she found herself running her hands lightly over Fitz’s back as their breathing slowed, as their hearts calmed. After another minute, she turned her face to press a kiss to his cheek, right by his ear.

“I love you,” she said.

Fitz made a contented noise and lifted his head enough to look down at her, a lazy, pleased smile on his face. “I love you, too,” he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her. Jemma lost track of time as they exchanged slow, gentle kisses, enjoying the simple pleasure of just being together. Eventually, Fitz pulled away to shift off of her, flopping over onto the mattress beside her.

“So,” he said as he gathered her up against his side, “was that better than your first wedding night?”

Jemma laughed as she laid her head on his chest. “Of course it was.”

Fortunately, Fitz didn’t seem willing to fight her on what was essentially a non-answer. Maybe he would later, but for right now everything was perfect. 

“We can’t stay here too long,” she reminded him, watching as she aimlessly traced patterns on his chest with her finger. “We’ve still got to shower and all of that before we go down for the party.”

“Mmm.” Fitz was slowly trailing his hand up and down her arm. “Don’t suppose I could interest you in a shower for two? Will both of us even fit? I haven’t seen the bathroom yet.” 

Jemma smiled, more laughter bubbling up in her chest. “We’ll fit. Trust me. And yes, I would be very interested.”

“Good.” Fitz didn’t immediately move, which was fine with her--she enjoyed getting to finally cuddle with him, after everything. But eventually he sighed and sat up, pulling her with him. 

“Right,” he said. “I’ll go get the shower started and let the water warm up and we’ll… figure everything out.”

Looking at him, Jemma knew he wasn’t just talking about how they would both fit into the small shower stall. He meant _everything_ \--the time he had missed, the echoes the first Fitz had left behind, how to move forward, and all that it meant for them together as a couple. Her heart warmed. Fitz was back, and they could do this--together.

“Yeah,” she said softly, and reached out to palm his cheek, then leaned in to give him a sweet kiss. They were finally home, _finally_ , and they could figure out the rest of their lives. But first--a nice, hot shower. Together.

Perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on Tumblr or Twitter at @eclecticmuses!


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